


i'm just trying to keep it together, because i could do worse and you could do better.

by orphan_account



Category: Everyman HYBRID
Genre: Canonical Character Death, During Canon, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Canon, Underage Drinking, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 04:11:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: None of it makes sense, really, but Evan doesn't think anything about him has made sense since the day he was born, so it's just more parts of a whole pattern.[Some snapshots of Evan and Jeff's life.]





	i'm just trying to keep it together, because i could do worse and you could do better.

**Author's Note:**

> I really... Have no idea what this is, but it was eating at me until I finished writing it.
> 
> I took some liberties with canon, so correct years/ages and stuff might be a bit off, I apologize.

The first time Evan kisses Jeff, he doesn't stop to think about it. It isn't weird; it's just another event that happens that day, and the concept of treating it as anything other than a maybe slightly notable occurrence would be both off-putting and unnecessary.   
   
The word _love_ doesn't float across even the most hidden corners of his subconscious, nor does _like_ (they're too old for such juvenile non-words as _like-like _) or any other comparable synonym.__  
   
It just _feels right_ , and no logical thought nor emotional pull is needed beyond that.  
   
They're fourteen. Or, more specifically, Evan is fourteen - Jeff's birthday has yet to come, so he's still technically thirteen. It's an otherwise unremarkable day in that seemingly endless gap between winter and spring (the end of February perhaps, or the first few weeks of March) where the warm sunshine outside isn't quite enough to melt and dry up the muddy slush or turn the unassuming buds at the tips of the tree branches into full-grown leaves.   
   
They're in Jeff's bedroom, both sitting on a bed that's made-up with impressive neatness for a boy his age. The three of them (Evan, Jeff, and Vinny that is) always spend afternoons together at one of their homes after the school day ends, and today it's Jeff's turn to host. But it's late already, the sun long since sunk beneath the horizon, and Vinny’s mother has already picked him up, making three deplete to two.   
   
It could be hours yet until Evan leaves, and they both know this; his parents aren't known for being responsible, and it's usually his eighteen-year-old sister who ends up transporting him from one place to another. Jeff's parents will be home within an hour or so, but nobody really minds the extra presence.   
   
Jeff is stretched out on his stomach, focused intently on the textbook in front of him as he works to complete his algebra homework with as much precision and thoroughness as he can manage. Although they have approximately three months left of the eighth grade, he spends a decent amount of time thinking about what AP level classes he wants to take two years from now, and hasn't missed a homework assignment since September.   
   
Evan, the complete antithesis to Jeff's quiet studiousness, is reclined with his legs stretched out in front of him, his own notebook and pencil halfway across the room from where he'd kicked them to the floor in a mix of boredom and the frustration that blooms when nobody cares enough to alleviate said boredom.   
   
“Jeff, c’mon, let’s go bother Alex or something.” Jeff's ten-year-old brother had been oddly quiet for the past thirty minutes or so, and Evan suspects he's shut in his room playing video games, an activity that is infinitely more appealing than the quadratic formula, no contest.   
   
Jeff doesn't respond, verbally or otherwise, and Evan sort of regrets disposing of his pencil, because stabbing his friend in the back of the head with it is an appealing prospect. Not appealing enough for him to actually get up and _retrieve_ said pencil, but still. Instead he kicks Jeff in the shoulder, repeating his name, louder this time. This earns a response, if an unsatisfactory one, as Jeff shoves his foot away with a noncommittal groan, eyes never leaving the page in front of him.   
   
Never one to give up, Evan finally settles on grabbing Jeff's hood and pulling backwards with all his strength (and he _is_ stronger than Jeff, maybe even stronger than Vinny) and forcing him into a sitting position.   
   
Jeff gives him that look, that specific _you-exhaust-me-Evan_ look, and he's still holding his pencil; there's a jarring dark grey graphite line dividing the paper he'd been writing on in two at a diagonal as he'd been mid-answer when Evan had so rudely interrupted him. “God damn it, Evan. _What?_ ”  
   
Evan leans forward, sitting up straight now, and they're nearly shoulder to shoulder. He'd been about to repeat his previous request to go find Alex, or at least start complaining about being ignored, but the ability to actually formulate sentences, to speak words suddenly abandons him without warning. Jeff has given him this exact same look a million times before (hell, probably a million times a _day_ ) but something about this precise moment is vastly different, despite the lack of logical reason why. It's nothing tangible, but rather something alight in the air between them, a concept that fourteen-year-old Evan can't even begin to grasp.   
   
The time elapsed is probably only a few seconds, but it drags out for what seems like an immeasurable stretch of silence. Eventually, the exasperated expression on Jeff's face is beginning to fade into one of confusion, and he looks like he's about to say something again; all Evan can think is that either of them speaking will destroy whatever _something_ has built up in this extended moment, and he doesn't want said conclusion to come, unexplainably.   
   
There's less than no thought process behind the action; it just _happens_ and Evan leans in to kiss Jeff. It's far from the most _sensible_ method of keeping someone quiet, but sense seems to have vanished sometime within the past five minutes, so said point is rendered moot. It only lasts for a half a second, and Evan doesn't think about it even once, and it definitely isn't weird; it's just a thing that happened.   
   
And then he's pulling away and it's over; the moment ends alongside it, but that's okay. Jeff doesn't look angry or even shocked; the same slightly confused expression remains on his face, only it's slightly different somehow, almost _softer_ , and Evan is only vaguely aware that he kind of likes it.   
   
“...Why…?” Jeff breaks the silence by asking a one-word question he wouldn't know how to expand on if he wanted to, his voice betraying uncertainty. It's a question Evan can't answer honestly, and one that neither of them truly want to _know_ the answer to.   
   
Instead, he just shrugs. “You weren't paying attention to me.”   
   
Jeff appears to think this over, deciding whether or not this is a good answer - it isn't, especially considering he'd already been giving his full attention before this happened, but “good” and “acceptable” aren't always mutually exclusive. It is, however a very “Evan” answer, and he learned years ago that that’s often the best he can get.   
   
“Okay,” is all he says, with only a trace amount of resignation. Somehow, they both know the conversation is over without anything else being said, and that is that.   
   
Jeff silently adjusts his position, falling forward onto his stomach again, and, clearly having learned nothing, turns back to his textbook, pausing only briefly to erase the ugly pencil line with precision. Evan grumbles, but by some miracle lets it be.   
   
In the end, Jeff finishes the entire chapter review, and double-checks his work. Evan sits there picking at stray strands of thread on Jeff's comforter and only lets out an exaggerated sigh every few minutes, which for him is showing great restraint.   
   
When Jeff is done, they go into Alex's room and play Super Smash Brothers Melee until Evan’s sister shows up; she joins them for a few rounds, destroying the three boys by a landslide.   
   
It isn't weird at all.   
 

* * *

   
A lot changes as the years go by, but this particular piece of the two of them stays a constant. When it happens, it happens, and when it doesn't it doesn't. And that's just fine.   
   
Vinny either is completely unaware or chooses not to say anything, which it is they'll never know. Evan, if he had to make a guess, would bet it's the latter, as Vinny is vastly more perceptive than most people assume. There are times when Evan swears he catches a sidelong glance that's maybe directed at him, or maybe directed at Jeff, or maybe (and most likely) directed at the both of them, but said look (which is knowing, yet not at all judgmental) could easily be brought on by a completely unrelated matter (and god knows there are infinite ways in which Evan is deserving of Vinny’s unique brand of visual scrutiny). In the end, there's no way of knowing for sure, barring the obvious asking outright, which is something he'll never do in a million years.   
   
Jeff looks at girls quite a bit, and so does Evan, and that's perfectly fine because it's normal, isn't it? It's not at all forced, or to prove a point; it's just what comes naturally, another thing that's pointless to stop and think about. Sometimes dates with girls are what happens naturally, and sometimes letting Jeff stretch his legs across Evan’s lap for no reason other than that it's comfortable is what comes naturally. Sometimes both of these things happen almost at the same time, and sometimes neither one happens for a long while, and that's alright.   
   
None of it makes sense, really, but Evan doesn't think anything about him has made sense since the day he was born, so it's just more parts of a whole pattern. It doesn't bother him, really; if anything, he might be just a little proud of it, strangely.   
   
Evan’s eighteenth birthday is spent at Vinny’s, and a small number of their other friends hang out for awhile, leaving as the night grows later until only the three of them remain, alone with a surprisingly still almost-full bottle of Absolut (it's probably still full because it's mango-flavored, which is both disgusting and not at all manly, but he'll leave off this particular detail when he brags later about spending his eighteenth birthday drinking Absolut straight).   
   
It's the first night the trio gets crazy levels of intoxicated together - they've been drinking on and off for years, even to the point of getting drunk, but it's always beer or shitty wine coolers, nothing this potent.   
   
Evan takes a long drink before handing the bottle to Jeff, the burn in his throat all but overshadowed by the one on his taste buds. “Vinny, this shit is fucking gross, you really couldn't even manage to get the _unflavored _kind? I'm sure that fucking tastes like something you'd use to disinfect a wound, but at least it's kinda badass. This just tastes like something you'd use to disinfect a wound mixed with… I don't even fucking know. Trix yogurt.” The mental image of somebody pouring multicolored yogurt into an open wound is so ridiculously funny in that moment that the internalized laughter turns his stomach, making him queasy. Silly rabbit, Trix are for kids.__  
   
Vinny gives him a sheepish smile, shrugging his shoulders apologetically. “Sorry man, the selection of ‘things my parents won't miss’ was pretty grim. It was either that or boxed wine, so…” He pauses to take the bottle from Jeff, and holds it up before taking a drink. “Cheers, happy birthday, buddy.”  
   
As much as he wants to, Evan really has no room to argue. Beggars (and underage drinkers) can't be choosers.   
   
It's many hours into the night before they even _think_ about sleeping, and really there's not much _thinking_ involved at all, Vinny just happens to pass out on the floor, his head resting on the base of the couch, his glasses only halfway still on his face. Evan decides that turning the lights out would be the kind thing to do, so he gets up and trips across the room, staring at the wall for what seems like years because he can't remember where the light switch is.   
   
When he makes it back to the couch, Jeff is staring at him with wide eyes, in a way that's quite a bit unsettling - he looks like a baby owl if said baby owl happened to be possessed by Satan. “Evan!” Although he probably _thinks_ he's whispering, Jeff's voice is far from quiet. Vinny doesn't even stir, and Evan debates over whether or not to check his pulse. If he managed to crack his head on the side of the couch or something, they probably still had enough vodka to disinfect the wound, so Evan gives himself a point for thinking ahead. Two points for the clever pun; he's on a roll.   
   
“Evan!” Jeff repeats slightly more loudly when he isn't acknowledged the first time, and his tone is so _urgent_ that Evan looks away from Vinny and instead up at him. Once he's sure he has Evan’s attention, Jeff continues. “...It's your birthday! Happy birthday!”  
   
The amount of _excitement_ in his voice for such a mundane revelation makes Evan start laughing almost hysterically, and at a pretty decent volume too. Vinny remains out cold, and he briefly reconsiders checking for life-threatening injuries. “I know it's my birthday, you dumbass. You already said happy birthday when we fucking got here, which was many hours ago.”  
   
“No, no!” There is just enough light in the room for him to make out just how empathically Jeff is shaking his head. “I mean it's _actually_ your birthday now! ‘Cause it's midnight!”   
   
Evan laughs again; being drunk apparently makes Jeff both a thousand percent more ridiculous and maybe like fifty percent more fun. “Pretty sure midnight was hours ago too, but okay.” There's a digital clock across the room and he squints at it, trying to will numbers to take shape from the blurry mess of neon green clouds. “Yeah, see, the clock says it's… Eight twenty-seven? No, that's not right, otherwise it'd be light out already… Oh, that's not a fucking eight; it's a three! It's three twenty-seven…” He pauses, allowing his thoughts to wander. “...so you'd better fucking be careful ‘cause three in the morning is when all the creepy haunted shit starts happening!”   
   
The jarring lime-green glow of the clock is giving him a headache, so he turns back to Jeff, whose eyes are narrowed as if he's thinking really hard about something. “... _did_ I say happy birthday at midnight…?”  
   
“Jeff, please _let it go._ ” Bewildered, Evan shakes his head, letting his head rest against the cushion of the couch, an action which makes him suddenly aware that he is _incredibly_ sleepy.   
   
“It's not nice to make fun of people, Evan! You should stop being… Mean and stuff.” Jeff leans forward, reaching both arms out and fumbling around in the dark, grabbing for something. “...Where is it? _Where's the vodka, Evan?!_ ”   
   
Evan just watches Jeff frantically grasp at thin air for about a minute or so in amusement before offering a “I think you had enough already, Jeff” in lieu of an actual answer to the posed question (which is, of course, that the bottle is right beside Evan, up on the couch).   
   
Scowling, Jeff falls back into the cushions, arms crossed. “Well _fuck you_ , Evan!” He holds onto the perturbed facade for only a small number of seconds before dissolving into hysterical laughter, as if what he's just said is the single funniest phrase anyone has spoken, ever.   
   
Evan laughs too, because it's not funny at all but it _is_ and trying to stop laughing once you've good and started is fighting an uphill battle. His stomach _aches_ from laughing so much and it gets difficult to breathe, but it's okay because they're laughing together and everything is so giddy and _light_ \--  
   
But then they aren't, and it isn't.   
   
How both of their laughter dies at the exact same time Evan has no idea; it's like it's being vacuumed from the room by an outside force, and suddenly he's all too aware of the moment.   
   
Jeff is looking at him with a mix of emotions in his eyes that Evan can't quite place. He tries, though, because he can't think of anything to say and his head is swimming.   
   
He gets as far as “curiosity… maybe?” before Jeff kisses him.   
   
Drunk or sober, it shouldn't be anything particularly shock-and-awe inducing; he's kissed Jeff quite a number of times over the past four years, but that's just it. _Evan_ kisses _Jeff_ ; he can't for the life of him remember any instance when it was the other way _around_ , and maybe the alcohol is dulling his memory, but he doesn't think so because he _definitely would remember something like that_.   
   
As soon as he starts kissing back, it's immediately apparent that something _is_ different; it might be because he's not used to being caught off guard, it might be because he's drunk, it might be because he thinks he has something to prove now, it might be because of a lot of things, but “why”s are things to be mulled over later, or never. He kisses aggressively (and probably quite a bit messily, because what is depth perception anyway), and inebriated or not he _does_ partially expect Jeff to pull back.   
   
He doesn't, though. He pulls Evan _closer_ actually, and Evan would never let himself think the word “needy” but it's totally apparent that drunkenness makes Jeff almost nee… no. Desparate…? That really wasn't any better of a word.   
   
The cold glass of the vodka bottle jabs at his lower back, prompting an immediate chill, but Evan barely notices; Jeff is kneeling in his lap now, a position that really _shouldn't_ be comfortable (and it isn't, when it comes down to it, as he can already feel his upper legs going numb) but somehow, right now, is more than ideal. Jeff doesn't weigh much, anyway, so it's not much of an issue at all.   
   
Jeff tastes like alcohol, obviously, with noticeably less burn, and yes, Trix yogurt, which is still all kinds of ridiculous but somehow less unsavory like this. Not to say that Evan will ever go out of his way to drink this particular mix of flavors ever again, but hey. It's always nice when you can give good connotations to a negative thing, right?  
   
He doesn't know how long they've been kissing, but time is pretty overrated anyway and besides, the lurid neon green numbers on that clock were starting to give him homicidal urges the last time he tried to check the time, and homicidal urges would totally ruin the mood. ...Maybe.   
   
At some point, though, he bites down, and not at all gently. It's probably an accident (that's a lie, it totally isn't) and even if it isn't, there's definitely not a driving reason behind it (that _might_ be partially true, but “because I fucking can” _is_ technically a reason). He's not sure exactly what sort of reaction he's expecting (because when has he _ever_ thought things through before acting, even when sober), but it's definitely _not_ the almost non-reaction he receives. The response _is_ there, though, just subtle; the only reason Evan bothers to look for it is because he'd be kind of insulted if it was just completely overlooked. 

Jeff’s hand is resting slack on Evan’s shoulder, and for just a second it tenses, fingers curling around the unassuming fabric of his t-shirt, an insignificant motion in and of itself, and yet it's more than enough. His nails are cut short, and Evan's shirt is of a decent thickness, so it's not as though he can _feel_ it (a realization that might be disappointing if he stops to think about it) but he’s _aware_ of it, and that's what counts, in the end; it's not as though he's about to object to any of this.  
   
He doesn't realize the extent to which the two of them seem to have transcended a normal state of existence to what is essentially a whole new plane of reality altogether wherein everyone and everything else has absolutely ceased to exist _until_ said fabricated state of being is instantly shattered. In what is a fine example of dramatic irony, Vinny, who hasn't moved an inch or uttered a single sound no matter the volume or activity level of those around him, suddenly shifts in his sleep, changing position (or at least attempting to) for the first time in at least an hour, _now_ when the room is probably as close to dead silent as a room occupied by drunk high school students _can_ be.   
   
Evan (and probably Jeff, too) wouldn't have picked up on the relatively inoffensive quiet rustling if it weren't for the fact that whatever movement Vinny's unconscious brain decides would be a good idea actually results in his somehow hitting the back of his head against the corner of the couch base, a collision that produces a _thud_ so loud it's impossible not to take notice.   
   
Both of them freeze in place within milliseconds of each other, and it would actually be pretty hilarious from a hypothetical onlooker’s perspective - maybe accompanied by one of those loud record scratch sounds that always seem to follow the most awkward of moments on shitty sitcoms. Evan can admit this; he's not above finding humor at his own expense. Sometimes.   
   
Jeff separates from him with surprising speed and agility for someone as drunk as he most definitely is; within the blink of an eye, he's on the far end of the sofa, silent and with this wild look in his eyes - like a deer facing into the headlamps of an oncoming car, if the deer just happened to think of some overwhelmingly witty deer-joke and therefore is also exerting visible energy to stop itself from laughing, because what's an inevitable gory death without an apathetic, badass expression to start it off?  
   
It's pretty incredible, actually, and Evan kind of wishes he could snap a photo of it, pass it around to all their friends… He, too, feels the urge to laugh again, and isn't that just the theme of the night?   
   
From the floor, Vinny is completely stationary again, although he definitely _is_ grumbling to himself. Evan, still frozen in place, is unable to do anything but strain his ears to listen, waiting for the inevitable. It never comes, though; Vinny mumbles to himself with an incoherency so strong it can't be anything other than sleep talk, and after a minute or so he's silent again.   
   
The moment is lost, though, and stopping to think about any recent happenings, much less consciously trying to recreate what's already gotten away, is something he'd never even _consider_ , lowered inhibitions or no.   
   
Exhaustion hits him then, as quick and intense as if he'd just been punched in the face, and all of a sudden it feels as though even the slightest of movements would require effort that he's certain he doesn't possess.   
   
Even falling asleep seems like it'd be just not worth the effort, so he just sits there, head rested on his folded forearms, leaning against the arm of the couch. All Evan can work up the strength to do is repeatedly curse Vinny in his head, even though he knows his sleeping friend is not actually at fault, for destroying the moment.   
   
He only considers that it might actually be for the best when Jeff drags himself off of the couch some amount of time later (fifteen minutes? maybe, who fucking knows) and stumbles to the bathroom, where he proceeds to vomit for what seems like an even _longer_ stretch of time. Okay, yeah, maybe he should be _thanking_ Vinny instead of mentally slinging colorful profanities at him.   
   
Despite _thinking_ that he's too tired to fall asleep, Evan is only able to keep his eyes open long enough to see Jeff return and collapse half on the cushions and half on Evan; he ends up with his cheek pressed up against Evan's thigh, one leg still hanging off the couch, foot just barely scraping the floor. It’s a position that just _can't_ be comfortable, Evan thinks, and he himself certainly isn't that comfortable, considering Jeff is taking up what's probably two and a third of the three couch cushions, but yet he doesn't think he'd move, even if he could.   
   
The next morning is a blurry mess of all-around misery; the three of them have a long chance to regret their poor life choices as they shamefully scramble to clean the entire first floor of Vinny's house before his parents get home. They had spilled _a lot_ more than Evan had noticed the previous night, but hey, nobody had vomited on the carpet. Things could always be worse.   
   
He has absolutely no idea if Jeff can remember everything that had happened the night before (and of course he _never_ would have asked, not even under the threat of death), but it doesn’t matter that much to him, in the end.  
   
Evan remembers it, and he thinks that's what really counts.   
 

* * *

   
Yet again, things stay the same despite what might be life-changing (or at least friendship-changing) events if they'd been two other people, but no; they're Evan and Jeff, and nothing between them is altered after the night of Evan's birthday.   
   
At least, not until Jessalyn.   
   
Jeff asks her out in April of their senior year, less than six months after Evan's birthday. She's a year behind them, but they meet at school, and the connection is instant. She's a sweet girl, arguably the nicest girl he's ever dated.   
   
And they fit so _well_ together; it seems like they're meant for each other, and everyone who spends any time around them can see it. It seems like they're only together for a month or two before they're at that obnoxious finish-each-other's-sentences stage, and it's disgusting. Evan hates it.   
   
He _shouldn't_ hate it, as he certainly doesn't hate Jessa _herself_ ; they get along quite well, actually. And he's seen Jeff date girls before; he's seen Jeff _kiss_ girls and felt nothing worse than mild amusement. He can remember encouraging Jeff to ask girls out on more than one occasion, and there was no underlying bitterness lurking behind said encouragement.   
   
But this is different. He doesn't know exactly _why_ it's different, but it _is_ and he fucking hates it; not understanding the reason behind it just makes him hate it more. Seeing the two of them together makes him angry, and the fact that he has that reaction just makes him even _angrier_ , and soon he's trapped in a never ending vicious cycle of fury that just results in him wanting to break shit. A _lot_ of shit.   
   
He learns to live with it, though, because what other choice does he have? He’s just tired of _thinking_ about it, and the sooner he comes to terms with the fact that Jeff and Jessa are probably going to stay together long term, and, most importantly, that they're **happy** **, the better. Better for them, better for him, everybody fucking wins.**  
   
To Jeff's credit, there ends up being plenty of time for their group of three to spend together, both with and without Jessa. And when there _isn't_ time, Evan and Vinny make a pretty great twosome. It's not that Evan doesn't feel Jeff's absence at times like this, because he definitely does, but things seem a lot less _heavy_ when he's with Vinny alone, and he's grateful for the chance to breathe.   
   
It's not necessarily something he had any intentions to do, but it's around this time that Evan gets a little bit closer to Alex. They've known each other since Alex was a kid, and while Evan never _disliked him_ , he was kind of always just Jeff's little brother. Now, though, he finds himself connecting with the kid, and not at all as some sort of stand-in for Jeff (in fact, despite some glaring similarities, the two are actually pretty much opposites).   
   
Now, sometimes, he finds himself staying overnight at their home, but closed off in Alex's room rather than Jeff's, which remains empty and quiet while its usual occupant is out with his girlfriend.

For someone who had been a child filled with boundless energy, Alex sure did grow into a surprisingly brooding teenager. Evan thinks he’s become as introverted as Jeff, if a little less put together. Even so, he has his own circle of friends – and yet, he attaches to Evan surprisingly quickly. Maybe he, too, is feeling the absence of Jeff brought on by the formation of the JefSa power couple, and subsequently the absence of a big brother figure. Evan isn’t sure, and he doesn’t ask.

They do fall into the roles almost seamlessly, though; Evan’s in no way looking to replace Jeff, but he still finds himself brimming with pride whenever Alex asks him questions about things like girls (a subject he likes to think he has a respectable amount of authority on) or geometry (not nearly as much authority in this case).

Nights spent gaming or watching horror movies (Evan has taken it upon himself to educate Alex on quality horror, as Jeff clearly failed in that regard) make Evan feel complete in a way he’s been aching for silently for a substantial amount of time – he thinks it might be the need protect something, the need to be needed…? Whatever it is, it’s satisfied by his connection to Alex, and it’s a breath of fresh air. Alex’s room is small, but Evan never feels the inclination to complain about having to curl up on the floor, or sometimes on the bed beside Alex.

If Jeff finds any of this strange or inappropriate, he doesn’t vocalize this opinion.  
   
Evan starts seeing a girl named Jessie the summer after their high school graduation. She’s equal parts adorable and hyperactive, the only girl he’s met that can keep up with him; sometimes she’s even a couple of steps ahead. They’re more compatible than he’s been with any other girl he’s dated, and it doesn’t take long for her to worm her way into his heart.

He’s fiercely protective of her in the way he’s fiercely protective of Alex, only probably quite a bit amplified. It’s not that Evan lacks any faith in her ability to fend for herself (because, again, she can easily keep up with him), but rather her importance to him instills a consuming need to ensure her safety.

He probably loves her, in some definition of the word, and he doesn’t doubt that he could fall _in love_ with her someday, but that day never comes.

They don’t last because Evan’s love for Jessie is one that an older brother feels for a younger sister, all too similar to the way he feels about Alex. 

The feeling is mutual. They remain as close as ever after the breakup, and in the back of his mind Evan thinks that he might just cut any guy who breaks her heart into indistinguishable pieces with one of his prized knives.

Jeff and Jessa, on the other hand, are still very much in love, and life goes on.

* * *

Jeff and Alex’s parents die in early 2010, when Jeff hasn’t even finished his first year of university. It’s the first of many tragedies to befall them, the first domino to collapse and trigger a chain reaction of destruction in Jeff, Vinny, and Evan’s lives.

It’s also the first time Evan has seen Jeff cry, or at least the first time since he was young enough for it to be socially acceptable to cry in front of one’s peers. He doesn’t cry for long, though, and Evan is struck with a clarity (no longer blinded by his overbearing need to protect) – _maybe Jeff is the strongest one out of all of us_ , he thinks to himself then, watching Jeff selflessly swallow his grief in order to take care of any affairs his mother and father left behind, most direly in regards to the guardianship of his little brother, who is still a minor. The only family Jeff and Alex have left is each other, and Jeff uses every last ounce of his strength to ensure that they, too, won’t be ripped apart.

The fact that Jeff shoves anyone close to him away when he’s in any sort of pain is something Evan has been aware of for many years now, but never has he seen such an evident example as now, where even Jessa finds herself at the point of teary-eyed helplessness faced with a stoic, moody, and unpredictable Jeff. 

It’s one of these moments, outside of Jeff and Alex’s home, when Jessa finally lets herself cry, at last bursting into tears that she immediately and violently wipes away with the heel of her hand, a still-burning stubborn fire present in her eyes behind the forefront of exhausted desperation.

The three of them, Jessa, Evan, and Vinny, are standing on the front steps of the house, waiting for Jeff, who has just stormed inside after snapping at Jessa, to return with Alex, since there are errands to run and precious few free hours as Jeff has classes early in the morning. 

No matter what sort of weird, uncomfortable dynamic exists between him, Jessa, and Jeff, Evan isn’t immune to feeling empathy for the poor girl, and right now he’s flooded with it; he places a hopefully reassuring hand on her shoulder, prompting her to look up at him with eyes that, while no longer actively crying, are drowning in tears yet unshed. There’s gratitude reflected there now, weak but present nonetheless, and Evan suddenly realizes that, beyond offering such shallow physical comfort, he has absolutely no idea what to say.

Luckily, Vinny, always adept at reading the mood, speaks up instead, with perfect timing. “He doesn’t mean it, Jess; I know that doesn’t make it magically _not_ hurt, but he’s trying.” He lays his hand gracefully on her shoulder too, the pinky finger just barely overlapping Evan’s thumb. “And he’s lucky to have you. I’ve known Jeff for a _really_ long time, and even though he’s the type to put on a brave face no matter what, I can promise he’d long since have fallen apart if you weren’t around. Right, Evan?”

Overhead, the late afternoon sun is suddenly obscured by a dense conglomeration of clouds, and Evan feels suffocated by conflicted feelings; he abhors it, and hates _himself_ just a little because he knows he has no right to feel any selfish emotions when Jeff, Jessa, and Alex are suffering so greatly.

When Jessa turns her gaze toward him, though, just the faintest glimmer of hope shining through the veil of tears, he nods immediately, forgetting anything else. “Definitely.”

She smiles at both of them then, only a split second of time elapsing before the front door opens again; Jeff runs outside with Alex in tow, dragging his feet a few paces behind. Wasting no time, Jeff immediately embraces Jessa, murmuring words of apology loud enough for only her to hear and prompting a stray few tears of relief to leak from the corners of her eyelids.

Before any awkwardness can set in, Vinny grabs Alex’s arm and declares something about heading toward the car; Alex allows himself to be lead with indifference and Evan follows the two of them, unable to keep from looking over his shoulder at Jeff and Jessa once as he begins to walk.

He can’t tell if Jeff is crying, as his face is buried in Jessa’s shoulder while the two cling tightly to one another, but what he _can_ see is more than enough to spark a twinge of _something_ in the pit of his stomach, which only then sets off a chain reaction of guilt and self-loathing. The degree to which Jeff seems to be able to _rely_ on Jessa is both amazing and agony-inducing; for a fraction of a second Evan finds himself childishly yelling internally to himself, _I could have done that,_ been _that, for you, what was so wrong with me Jeff?_ But as instantaneously as it appears, the thought is gone, as if it had never surfaced in the first place.

Just as Evan reaches out to tug impatiently on the handle of Jeff’s locked car door, the sky opens up in a torrential downpour, drenching them all instantly.

Amidst the melodic sound of drops of water beating against the pavement in a haphazard rhythm, Evan hears Jessa’s signature adorable giggle, and looks up just in time to catch her and Jeff sharing an all-too-familiar affectionate glance, and as they finally start toward the car, she’s holding onto his arm with a loving gentleness. 

Jeff reaches into his pocket and there’s the unmistakable chirp of all four car doors unlocking at once; eager to get shelter from the unrelenting rain, Vinny shoves Alex into the car more roughly than intended, resulting in a mixture of laughter and cursing that makes Evan’s lips stretch into a hesitant smile. 

He finds himself taking note of how ironic it is, that the brightness between the five of them started its restoration just as the clouds began to weep. 

He thinks there might be a lesson to be learned somewhere in there, but he can’t really be assed to look for it, not at the present moment. They’re okay, and that’s what matters – maybe things will start to look up from here.

* * *

They don’t.

As if Jeff hasn’t suffered enough loss for his entire _lifetime_ , much less merely the year 2010, Jessa disappears later that year.

Things start going more horribly _wrong_ than they could have ever imagined when they start a YouTube channel for fitness tips, also planning to have a fake Slenderman cameo in one of the videos as a fun joke for the audience. Otherwordly, nightmarish occurrences begin happening, and Vinny, Evan, and Jeff seem powerless to stop any of it.

Jessa is assumed dead, and if Jeff was broken by the loss of his parents, he’s outright _gutted_ now, hollowed out and left as nothing but a shriveled, dying husk.

They don’t even have much time to formally mourn her, as things quickly go from bad to worse, but when they aren’t in some kind of mortal peril (or trying to prevent more collateral damage), Jeff lays in his room, neatly on his back in his bed like a murder victim enclosed by a chalk outline, and stares at his ceiling with vacant eyes.

Evan, despite having good reason to be concerned for his _own_ safety, spends a good amount of time worrying about both Jeff and Alex, and has taken to spending time at their house, if only just to check in and make sure that everything is as close to okay as it can be. Hey, he’s never exactly _denied_ having control issues. 

While outwardly much more functional than his older brother ( _he_ isn’t prone to lengthy spells of depression-induced immobility after all), Alex’s mental state has also been deteriorating in its own way, that being an absolute, unflinching denial that his parents are actually gone. He speaks to thin air, sometimes using recordings of their voices to “answer” himself. Evan (as well as Vinny, and Jeff if he’s paying attention) just goes along with it, not wanting to enable him farther into his delusions, but really, what other choice does he have? The kid’s already broken; he has no desire to be the one to break him further.

Between the two of them, trips to their home (often with Vinny, sometimes without) are without-a-doubt unpredictable, but Evan still makes them, if only to delude himself that he’s actually helping. And also because they have to stick together; he knows that, with everything going on, they all need each other to figure things out before it’s too late and they _all_ end up like Jessa. 

He hates thinking of her like that; it makes his stomach turn to realize such thoughts reduce her to simply a fate rather than a human being that had touched all their lives in some way. He hates thinking of her in the past tense, like he’s given up hope of finding her alive, but he finds that he has disturbingly little control over his own thoughts these days. Maybe it’s not just Jeff and Alex; maybe they’re all slowly losing their grip on reality. It’s just another thing he absolutely does not want to think about.

It’s on one of these visits where Evan finds Jeff sitting on his bed, probably in nearly the exact same spot that he’d been seated that afternoon when they were in eighth grade, a book propped up in his lap. It’s _House of Leaves_ ; Evan can tell by even just the couple inches of the cover that are visible to him, as Jeff tends to never fucking _shut up_ about that book. Or, used to; the realization casts a gloom over him, and he tries to ignore it. 

The half-open bedroom door is enough to cast a glow of artificial yet soft beams of light into the dimly-lit hallway outside, and Evan realizes he can’t remember the last time he’d found Jeff sitting in his room with the lights on. It was probably before Jessa disappeared.

He glances toward the end of the hallway, seeing that Alex’s door is closed. He’s home, though, Evan thinks; he can see a crack of light under the base of the door, and the sound of Sparky’s paws hitting the floor as she runs laps around the room excitedly is audible even through the heavy door and down the hall. 

Evan is torn between not wanting to interrupt Jeff (something he’d never thought twice about doing beforehand, when things were okay) and celebrating the miniscule victory that Jeff looks… Well, “alright” is probably an exaggeration, and forget “good.” But he looks _present_ , and that’s a start. He follows Jeff’s eyes on the page for a brief moment; his heart is far from being in the act of reading (and again, he can tell this immediately because Jeff _really_ loves this goddamn book), but at least part of his head seems to be. 

He steps into the room with a casual greeting, partly because continuing to stand in the hallway would be both unproductive and creepy, and Jeff jumps just slightly; Evan wouldn't even have noticed if it hadn’t caused the book to noticeably slide down the natural slant of Jeff’s knees. They’re all beyond used to each other showing up unannounced in their homes, but everybody’s a bit more on edge these days.

_Can I sit…?_ Is on the tip of his tongue, but Evan finds himself irritated that he even _thinks_ such a stilted request, one so very unlike him, that he stubbornly sits down without saying a thing, looking over Jeff’s shoulder at the words on the page. “Can’t you like… Fucking recite this by memory now?”

Jeff shrugs, offering no response beyond that, his head still cast downward, and if Evan draws any parallels to that day seven years ago, he casts them out of his brain before they have the chance to fully form. He leans back, holding himself up with his arms and looks up at Jeff’s _Starry Skies_ poster, finding himself almost wanting to ask if reading something like that hits too close to home. He doesn’t, though, because who cares whether Jeff’s coping skills make sense – what matters is that he’s _coping_. 

Marking his page, Jeff closes the book, allowing himself to comfortably sit back, parallel to Evan. It’s the first time in at least a year that Evan actually feels the closeness between them, and he wishes he weren’t perceptive enough to pick up on that because it kind of feels like a stab to the ribs. 

As if unable to muster even the strength to hold himself in his current sitting position, Jeff just kind of crumples after a few seconds, his head falling against Evan’s shoulder. Evan waits for a few seconds, expecting Jeff to move, but he doesn’t.

He thinks that now would be the perfect time to say something, _anything at all_ , but because the universe really fucking sucks, of course the one time he _doesn’t_ want his mind to blank out and stop thinking for awhile, it does just that. And doesn’t that just perfectly align with the rest of the evidence that some higher power is utterly decimating his entire life and his mental stability because in the end it’s just some big fucking cosmic joke? That would be a firm yes, indeed it does, lovely ladies and slender gentlemen, boys and girls of all ages; this is probably just some demonic version of a sick joke.

Too bad absolutely none of it is even the least bit goddamn funny. Not even if you dial your sense of humor down to “memes posted on 4chan at 3:30 in the morning.” Still not laughing, buddy, time to cut your losses and go fuck up somebody else’s life. Better luck next time.

While he’s caught in an endless loop of cursing himself for not managing to scrape up even the most pathetic of comforting words and the dramatic irony of it all, Jeff saves him the trouble and breaks the silence, his voice betraying the kind of uncertainty he usually kept hidden. “Nothing’s going to be okay, is it?”

Somehow, being caught completely off-guard by the question manages to tear down what had merely seconds ago seemed like a completely insurmountable barrier between Evan’s thoughts and his mouth. “You don’t know that.” It’s a complete cop-out answer, meaningless bullshit that makes him want to punch himself in the face when he hears himself voice it. Maybe staying quiet _would_ have been better.

“Well neither do _you_ ,” Jeff retorts, looking up at Evan; it’s the first time since he’d gotten there that they’d made direct eye contact, and for just a second Evan can pick out that unmistakable _You-Exhaust-Me-Evan_ stare even behind the thick fog of misery and grief in Jeff’s eyes, but then it’s gone and maybe he’d imagined it anyway. 

He’s about to make some knee-jerk sarcastic reply, if only because he detects a hint of irritation in Jeff’s voice and maybe yelling at each other or something will make them both feel better (not a well-thought-out plan of action by any means, and probably mostly because he finds it nearly impossible to shy away from a fight) when Jeff’s face visibly falls, into a look of such all-encompassing sadness that the words immediately wither in his throat. _Why couldn’t you just have screamed at me_ , Evan yells in his head, but out loud, words just don’t come.

Raising a hand that he’s clearly working to keep steady, Jeff points at Evan’s arm; whatever unspoken message he’s trying to get across, Evan doesn’t understand, and what ever happened to the two (well, three, actually, Vinny is included in this) of them being able to finish each other’s thoughts? Why had everything had to reach this degree of fucked up?

“That hoodie you're wearing,” Jeff says quietly, hand still raised in a point. Evan immediately looks down at it, completely ignorant as to why his friend is drawing attention to what he's wearing. He gives Jeff a clueless look, shrugging in confusion. 

“What about it…?” He asks after a pause, still totally lost. It's a completely unassuming sweatshirt, absolutely his usual fare. Black, although faded slightly into a dark grey due to being old (or, as he prefers to say, well-loved) with an 8-bit video game sprite on the front adding a splash of color. He has countless similar ones hanging in his closet at home (more realistically, strewn across his floor, but same difference). 

Jeff folds up again, now moreso leaning his entire left side against Evan than just his head. “Do you remember that one time we were all hanging out in your backyard because you left your keys at Vinny’s and nobody was home? We decided, for some reason, that we’d just sit on your lawn and wait instead of wasting the very small amount of gas to drive back there… And it was autumn, maybe near Halloween…? So it was kinda cold, and getting dark.” 

Evan squints his eyes as he tries to remember; only a vague, blurry image takes shape. When had that been, the fall after graduating…? It seems like decades ago to him now. “Yeah kinda,” he mumbles just to respond. “Wasn't Vinny doing his fucking kanji homework or whatever just stretched out on my lawn?”

For a second, Jeff looks like he _wants_ to laugh but his vocal chords won't allow him to, but the moment passes silently. “Yeah, I think you called him a fucking weeaboo and he tried to stab you with his ink pen. Jessa was in a short-sleeved shirt… Purple, I think,” he adds as an afterthought. “I had a zip-up hoodie on, and she was telling me off for not being a gentleman and offering it to her. I was like pretend-fighting back with her, and I told her to go ask you for yours since it'd probably be closer to her size.” He pauses, as if reminiscing. “I was completely joking, but she actually did it! And you were gonna give it to her, too… That same hoodie, the one you're wearing right now.” 

Evan remembers before the words even leave Jeff's lips, and his heart sinks. These days he doesn't even think when he gets dressed in the morning; he's completely on autopilot. But this could have been avoided if he would just stop to _think_ … He’s disgusted with himself. “Yeah, I remember now… I was totally ready to let her wear it.” His voice sounds both hollow and distant to his own ears. “But you had to get all pissy about it and of course you gave her yours in the end.” He laughs, a dry and humorless sound. “I started bitching about feeling left out and ended up giving mine to Alex instead.” After a moment, he adds, “I'm sorry.” 

He feels Jeff shaking his head although he isn't looking. “S’not your fault,” he says softly. “Everything reminds me of her, so if it wasn't that, it'd be something else.” Evan wishes he could say something, but when it comes down to it, what _is_ there to be said? 

In the absence of words, Evan feels Jeff turning his face into his arm, and all of a sudden his stomach contracts with regret. He remembers, with an uncharacteristic vivid clarity, that day in the rain. Seeing Jeff lean his entire _soul_ into Jessa, and feeling that stab of totally-not-jealousy. He had wished, silently, that it could be him instead, and now it was, and everything is so, so, so fucking wrong. 

_I TAKE IT BACK_ , he yells in his head hysterically. _I take it all back I promise just fucking bring her back and take from me instead, it's my fault_. 

He isn't sure if Jeff is actually crying or not, but he pats his shoulder reassuringly just the same, drawing him close no matter how much the action makes his skin crawl with guilt. Eventually, Jeff pulls back, and Evan can breathe again, ensnared by so many conflicting emotions and yet at the same time feeling nothing at all.

Evan spends the night there that night, and he lays awake staring at Jeff's ceiling, thinking about how much of a piece of shit he is and how the all-powerful beings in charge of divine comedy definitely have it out for him and it isn't fair. 

He resolves never to have a selfish desire again, but self-control has never been his strong suit.

* * *

Steph is something that just happens. The last thing he's thinking about as they're wrapped up in absolute hell is meeting girls, but she ends up there and they click and it happens. 

The fact that she'd been Jessa’s best friend is yet another twist of irony, but all Evan knows is that she's suffering and he's suffering and it hurts less to suffer together. They lost Jessa, they lost Alex; he even lost Jessie… In a world anchored by pain and emptiness, any positive stirring of emotion is a life raft. 

He doesn't remember what falling in love feels like (if he ever knew such a thing in the first place), but he thinks this might just be close to it. When he looks into her eyes he feels _safe_ , and he hopes she feels the same way because he _wants_ her to feel safe, to _be_ safe… He attaches quickly, and she lets him and it's _comfortable_. 

It's difficult to imagine any sort of future for himself, as he wakes up every day with the assumption that he'll die before he falls asleep that night, but if he _was_ able to stop and think about it, he could easily imagine Stephanie beside him. A quiet life with an amazing lady. Maybe kids. Nobody they loved killed by any sort of paranormal creature. It's too much to hope for, but there's an itch at the back of his mind that yearns for it subconsciously all the same.

There's no part of Evan that thinks it might be because he simply aches for something to protect, although the fact that he _has_ something to protect and live for definitely does making trudging through the endless expanse of death and fear that his life has become both a little bit easier, and a little bit more rewarding. 

If Jeff has any sort of inward objection to the two of them, he conceals it expertly, because there’s not even the subtlest of indications that he feels anything even remotely close to that. Circumstances have piled up recently that would make an indifferent reaction more than understandable, and there are way too many factors to be considered now that so much has changed for the worse. It doesn’t matter, though, because Evan’s mind is so constantly crowded with thoughts that what once would have been something he’d at least let himself wonder about when his mental guard was down is now so comparatively insignificant it doesn’t cross his mind even once. And if Jeff feels the same way, then good; it’s probably for the best.

Evan isn’t one to jump at shadows, and although he spends his days in a near constant state of fear, he likes to think he does a halfway decent job of covering it up; none of this can change the fact that he doesn’t trust himself anymore though, and with good reason.

It’s one thing when countless terrifying outside stimuli are constantly closing in around you; it’s enough to leave you damaged, a substantial dent in your sanity. But when you start to come to the chilling realization that at least some amount of this torment and destruction is coming from within _yourself_ … Well, that’s a whole new plane of complete and utter decimation of emotional stability. Something’s wrong, though, wrong with _him_ or at least wrong in a way that _involves_ him and that he’s powerless over.

He wishes he doesn’t see the faint shade of doubt and wariness that creep into the corners of both Vinny’s and Jeff’s eyes sometimes, but of course he does, and even though it feels like a powerful punch to the stomach, Evan absolutely can’t blame them for it. There are moments when he feels like he _loses_ himself, short spans of time that are all but erased, and the creeping feeling of dread he’s been living with for years now just keeps growing stronger and stronger. How long before those aforementioned shadows of doubt and cautiousness evolve into outright distrust? 

Steph trusts him too, at least as much as she’s able to, and he has yet to catch any flashes of anxiety in her eyes when he’s close to her. Evan is torn between feeling grateful for this, full of love for her, or fear that she _should_ be worried. Sometimes it seems almost impossible to quiet this internal debate, despite the fact that all he wants to do when he’s beside her is just _exist_ with her; even if they don’t say anything, her being _there_ is more than enough.

She is also sometimes able to _perceive_ when he’s particularly afraid, when it feels like the fear is some kind of sentient monstrous beast threatening to tear through the flesh of his torso, squeezing his heart until it bursts. At these times, Evan can’t even spare a moment of regret or shame that someone has seen through his seemingly impenetrable walls; the immediate flood of affection and appreciation he feels drowns out anything else, washing it all away for a temporary bliss. 

To say they’re happy would be a lie, and even “okay” would be fallacious. But they manage the best they can, and sometimes when Steph is curled up next to him, asleep and, at least in the short-term, free in dreams of the nightmares lurking the waking world, he thinks that maybe “okay” is something that can be built, pieced together from the remains of their crumbled reality, by the two of them, the _four_ of them. 

Maybe that’s why, when she tells him she’s pregnant, they make a unanimous decision for her to have the baby. This is absolutely no environment to bring a child into, not to mention the fact that both of them are still young and probably lacking the maturity and life-experience to be parents, but it’s still a decision that comes surprisingly easily to Evan, to the both of them.

His concept of life and death has certainly darkened in recent years, and if there’s one plus side to all the horror that he’s been forced to live through (besides meeting Steph, of course), it’s that he’s been forced to mature, and quickly. In the end, all he can think is that they’ve all seen _so much_ death, that he can’t extinguish the opportunity to bring some _life_ into their world instead, some small light in the darkness. 

When he tells Jeff and Vinny, Jeff slides an arm around Evan’s waist, immediately pulling him close. “That’s great,” he says with no trace of anything underlying the genuine congratulatory words. The two of them haven’t been this physically close in what seems like forever, and Evan wonders why that knee-jerk skipping of heartbeats still happens so immediately. 

Still, “thanks,” is all he says, and he encircles Jeff with one arm, tightening the embrace. Vinny claps one hand on his shoulder affectionately, and the three of them revel in the rare moment of contentment and normalcy, despite all of them knowing better than to expect it to last. 

Even so, maybe their own brand of “okay” might just be _okay enough_. They may have very little, but they still have _something_ , and as long that remains the truth, Evan thinks he can keep his head above water.

* * *

It’s like being shut in a weighted lockbox and being lowered to the bottom of the ocean, except that no matter how long you’re trapped there without a trace of air in your lungs, you never suffocate and die. 

It’s like being trapped in a state of unintended intra-operative awareness, except you’re lying on an autopsy table instead of in an operating room. 

There are countless ways to describe how it feels for Evan to exist as a prisoner in his own body while someone, some _thing_ , else is in control of it, but there’s no flowery metaphor quite potent enough to get it right.

The phrase “sensory-deprivation” floats across his mind a few times, but that’s not quite right either, because he still has access to his senses… Well, some of them. When HABIT wants him to. And you’d better fucking count on the fact that these are the times when Evan wishes he _were_ locked in a box on the ocean floor.

He’s been able to see and hear everything since HABIT walked into this dimly-lit, dusty room. He wishes he could look at the floor, or even count the silken strands of a particularly intricate spider web woven into one of the empty corners of the room. He wishes he could look _anywhere else_ , but he can’t.

HABIT forces Evan to look at Jeff. With each passing second, he can feel this detached, vicarious eye-contact deplete a little bit more of his already practically non-existent mental stability.

He can see the way the dim light reflects ever-so-slightly on the serrated steel of the blade HABIT presses against the soft skin of Jeff’s throat, trying to break him the way he’s already breaking Evan. He can _feel_ it too, the movement of his wrist and the way the slow, gentle dragging of blade across skin sends the tiniest of vibrations to the fingers wrapped around the knife’s grip. Jeff’s expression is impressively blank, but Evan swears he can see deep into his eyes, deep into a place overflowing with terror, helplessness, and betrayal. 

_You’re doing this._

Evan wants to die.

Hearing bones break up close is another thing he can’t describe; Evan swears he hears the brittle bones in Jeff’s finger creak with warning before they’re all but shattered into dust – but maybe he just imagined it. Jeff’s screaming drowns out the repeated action with the next few fingers, and by the last two he’s completely silent and Evan is too damaged to hear much of anything. 

_That could have been the last time you ever hear his voice._

He doesn’t want to keep letting thoughts like this take hold of his mind, because it’s all probably _exactly_ what HABIT wants to hear, but he just isn’t strong enough to control it.

And that’s exactly the recurring theme, isn’t it? Evan isn’t strong enough. He hasn’t been strong enough to stop any of the death and hurt thus far, and he wasn’t strong enough to even keep control over his own goddamn _body_ , for fuck’s sake. He’s weak, and because he’s weak, Jeff is going to… 

He’s not even strong enough to finish the thought. Pathetic.

Somewhere in the midst of this hell, HABIT tears Jeff’s shirt off, most likely just because he felt he needed a more expansive canvas of skin on which to bring to life his grotesque works of art. The sensation of Jeff’s skin splitting open as HABIT carves haphazard gashes wherever he sees fit makes Evan lose his grip on reality so intensely that it’s almost as if he can physically _feel_ his brain fracturing, breaking into useless miniscule pieces as easily as Jeff’s bones had. All he can physically feel is _wet, warm_ , and everything before his eyes is tinged a menacing red.

HABIT laughs, pausing his enthusiastic cutting-spree to drag the tips of Evan’s fingers from the hollow of Jeff’s throat down his chest, tracing a line that purposely avoids any of the open wounds. The touch is gentle, mocking, and Evan sees Jeff flinch in a way more prominent than he has for the past round of lacerations; goosebumps prickle on his exposed flesh.

The laughter is meant to make Jeff feel helpless, small… Yes, but something in Evan knows it’s for _him_ , too. The knowledge is innate; perhaps it’s because HABIT _wants_ him to know, but he’s all but certain either way. 

_This is what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it?_

At some point, Jeff, confined by chains, has his back to the wall, his tired stare fixed on Evan. The room is overwhelmed by the sharp smell of blood, both dried and fresh, and Evan has no idea how much time has passed since this nightmare began. Hours? It has to have been more than a day… He feels as though he’s been trapped like this for decades, an unwilling participant in the drawn-out torture of one of the only people in this world he’d willingly die for.

He wishes he _could_ die for Jeff, because he would trade places with him in a second, but HABIT is nowhere near merciful enough to let Evan die. 

Everything seems to be paused now, a lull in the carnage, and miraculously enough, Jeff’s face seems mostly untouched, aside from a rather prominent black eye. He looks like a more broken, more _destroyed_ version of the same Jeff that he’s known for most of his life, and maybe that was intentional. 

HABIT is smiling, or smirking at least, as he stares Jeff down through Evan’s eyes, as if trying to intimidate him into crying again, or even begging. Jeff had been silent for an impressive amount of time, and perhaps HABIT is getting bored of said silence. 

He leans in close to Jeff, only fractions of an inch away from their bodies being pressed together, and Jeff winces, prompting HABIT to laugh under his breath. “Still fear left in you after all... Good; I _really_ fucking hate being bored.” It’s his own voice and yet it _isn’t_ , and each time Evan hears it, it’s like a needle piercing his eardrum. 

There’s a small stretch of silence wherein HABIT just leaves himself pressed against Jeff’s body, most likely trying to cause the maximum amount of discomfort possible, and then he draws back just slightly, giving the appearance of pulling away. 

He doesn’t, though, instead opting to lean back in, even closer this time, and pressing his (Evan’s) lips against Jeff’s. 

It feels the same, _tastes_ the same (albeit with a bitter undercurrent of blood left over from Jeff being punched in the face), and somehow that just makes the whole ordeal that much more gut-wrenchingly _horrific_. 

HABIT pulls away after what seems like an eternity, if only to allow himself enough room to force Evan to look directly into Jeff’s eyes. There’s a shocked ( _disgusted_ ) look on his face, but his eyes are void, dead. A step ahead of the rest of him; it betrays just how badly he’s completely finished with living. 

Absolute quiet. An oppressive, metallic air weighs on the room, on Evan’s _psyche_ , and nobody moves an inch. The heavy, intangible veil of silence is ripped in two when HABIT finally speaks, jabbing the knife under Jeff’s chin and forcing him to look upwards. 

“Don’t fucking be like that, Jeff. It’s just that…” HABIT breathes in a low whisper, but it’s more than loud enough for all three of them to hear with clarity. 

“You weren’t paying attention to me.” 

Evan has probably been broken through this entire harrowing event, but if he has to pinpoint an exact moment when his entire _being_ shatters completely, it’s right then. Because Jeff’s formerly vacuous eyes come back to life the instant the words hit his ears, widening in what looks like both disbelief and terror, and Evan _knows_ he remembers despite wishing with all that’s left of his heart that he doesn’t. 

The very last time Evan(‘s body) kisses Jeff, they both may as well be sentient corpses, and there is no hope left. 

The word “love” might cross his mind this time, toeing the line between subconscious and conscious thought for a tiny fraction of a second before retreating back into obscurity.

But it doesn’t matter either way.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, oh pal, oh buddy, there's nothing I love more than Bad Ends.


End file.
